


Debts and Dues

by CKBookish



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [21]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson is a good bro, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lazarus Pit Madness, Serious Injuries, editing? I don't know her., jason Todd is a good bro, let the batboys love each other DC I dare you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CKBookish/pseuds/CKBookish
Summary: There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks,  losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song.  Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant.  He stood stock still.  The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum.  Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired.He didn’t flinch.  He couldn’t flinch.“Move.”“You know I can’t.”  Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it.Batman Bingo 2020: Deathstroke
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590904
Comments: 54
Kudos: 562





	Debts and Dues

**Author's Note:**

> Batman Bingo 2020 Deathstoke. 
> 
> There do be some blood and violence in this one, so be safe. 
> 
> I was requested on tumblr to write "someone hiring deathstorke to take out red hood and dick gets involved to save his brother?" by Jasonofbanamighdall. Thank you for the request, I hope it hits the spot! 
> 
> As always I love hearing from you and treasure you're comments and kudos!

We’re not in the best of ways

And perhaps it’s a shock but

for you I’d wade in the venom green haze 

* * *

There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks, losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song. Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant. He stood stock still. The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum. Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired. 

He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t flinch. 

“Move.” 

“You know I can’t.” Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it. They had danced around this for years. Sentimentality couldn’t keep him safe forever. 

“I won’t ask again.” Slade’s voice came out as a growl. So he didn’t want to, Dick decided, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it. 

“You’ll have to go through me to get to him.” Dick didn’t dare glance behind him to where Jason lay. Any movement would be an opening to push him side, to finish the hit. 

“Grayson.” Slade’s voice was suddenly softer. “I’m the one with the gun. Batman can’t hold it against you. It’ll be one less low life on your streets.”

Dick forced his face to stay a blank mask. Slade didn’t know. Which meant whoever had taken out the hit on the Red Hood didn’t know either. The fact that Jason was Batman’s son might be the only thing that could get him out of here. Dick wondered  _ how  _ he could use it.  _ If  _ he could even use it. Slade had taken the hit, which meant he had been paid. He never left a job unfinished once he had been paid. 

Dick wasn’t dumb enough to offer him money to cancel the hit. Slade would never take it. Not even for him. Joey’s name was worth a lot, but not that much. His friendship with Slade’s dead son meant Dick was afforded some leniency from the mercenary, but it wouldn’t be enough for this. 

“I think Batman  _ wouldn’t  _ like it at all if I let you kill him. In fact, he would never stop hunting you, Slade.” Dick wasn’t ready to give up Jason's relation to them just yet. News of that would spread like wildfire and could cause all sorts of trouble down the line, for Jason and Bruce. “Do you really want the Bat dogging you for the rest of your days?” 

Dick hoped he sounded confident. He felt far from it. 

He was tired and sore. 

Going hand to hand with Slade had always left him feeling drained, but when Jason had gone down Dick hadn’t so much as thought. It didn’t matter what it would cost him, Dick couldn’t let Jason die. Not again. 

He had lost him once. It didn’t matter that he was the Red Hood. It didn’t matter how many people he killed, Dick couldn’t-- he wouldn’t lose him. Not when they had just found each other again. Even if Jason  _ hated  _ him, hated Bruce. He-- he was Jason. 

Deathstroke thumbed the hammer of the gun, but still didn’t lock it back. 

“Why would he hunt me? He has plenty to keep him busy here.” Slade’s good eye narrowed behind his mask. The orange fabric pinched as his face twisted in confusion. 

“Trust me, Slade this is a job you want to walk away from.” Dick didn’t know what to do. He was without his escrima sticks, he had lost his grapple gun, and had no more wingdings. He was doing his best to stay upright. Whatever, hits Slade had landed earlier were catching up to him fast, and worst of all, Bruce wasn’t coming. He was home with broken ribs. Dick had only come to town to help cover for the duration of Batman’s recovery. 

It was a fluke he was here at all. 

“I don’t walk away.” Slade’s voice changed and in that moment Dick realized the game was up. 

The hammer clicked into place, and Slade slowly pulled the trigger. Dick leapt forward pushing the barrel up, praying that Jason would wake up and run. It would be worth it if he just got away. 

The burning in his torso was all consuming. The shot was a through and through, but Dick had no way to tell just how far past his flesh the bullet had flown. Dick pushed it to the back of his mind the best he could. 

He had to focus, focus on the man in front of him. They were a tangle of black, blue and orange as they rolled. Dick didn’t look to see if the bullet that had passed through him had in fact found its mark. He just kept punching. 

Though his arms were heavy and tired he blocked and struck blow after blow. He moved and kicked and snatched and clawed. Dick bit and pulled every dirty trick he could. 

“Hood!” Dick screamed hoping, praying Jason would stand up and go. 

Slade finally pried Dick away from him and drew a pistol. He was spent. No matter how hard he fought to stand, to get up and put himself between his brother and Slade, his body wouldn’t listen. 

Slade’s mask had come off in the fight. Dick still had the fabric held by shaking hands. The graying hairs around Deathstoke’s temple reflected the dim lights of the building next to him. Dick hated how much he looked like Joey. The shape of his face and ears were the same as his son. Dick hated how much he wanted to stare at him for hours, for days, just looking for any trace of the friend he once had. Whatever this stalemate of grief they had held over the years would end tonight. 

If Slade won, Dick would never be able to look for his friend in Slade again. And if Dick won… well. His winning only counted on Jason making it out. One way or another, it would be over tonight. 

“Nightwing.” Slade sighed as Dick pushed himself up again. “You’ve done your best. Go home. I have no quarrel with you.”

“I can’t.” Dick’s voice came out funny as his swollen mouth slurred and refused to cooperate. 

Slade pinched his nose. It was such a human gesture that Dick for a moment wondered if Slade would leave. He raised the gun. “Last chance. Go.”

Dick glanced behind him at Jason’s body still laying on the roof. Dick’s hands were shaking but this time not from the exhaustion. “I can’t.” He turned back to Slade. Bruce would never forgive him. But Dick knew in that moment, that that wasn’t what mattered. He would never be able to live with himself. “He’s my brother.”

A funny expression crossed Slade’s face, but only for a moment. Dick didn’t even see it when he pulled the trigger. 

* * *

Jason woke with the sounds of grunting and cursing near him. His body felt like he had fallen at least four stories and landed on a pile of metal and stone. He forced his breathing to remain even and slow, as he took inventory of not only himself but his surroundings. Someone was fighting. Jason suddenly remembered. Deathstroke chasing him, cornering him, Jason had fallen. But how was he… he opened his eyes and, careful not to draw attention, turned ever so slightly to see what was happening just feet from him. 

Dick was fighting Deathstroke tooth and nail. He frowned; he had never seen Dick like this before. He would have to reevaluate how dangerous the man was. Jason hadn’t thought he had it in him to be so… cruel. Every strike was near enough a death blow. Nightwing of course had gone up against Deathstroke before, so perhaps he knew he could handle the intensity of the blows he was dealing him. But there was an underlying desperation that had Jason rather flummoxed. 

Slowly as he could Jason adjusted his possession, so that he could slip away. But suddenly the fighting stopped. Jason froze. He needed to make sure they both paid him no mind. 

He didn’t focus on what they were saying he was too busy trying to figure out his move. His hand inched slowly to his belt where he kept one of his guns. He would take Deathstroke out while Dick had his back to him. Then he would clip Dick, and make a run for it. Easy. 

Jason had the gun in his hand, the cold metal felt heavy in his grip. He was so focused on the smooth motions, and keeping from making any noise that for a moment he didn’t understand the words that came out of Dick’s mouth. 

“He’s my brother.”

Jason froze. His body was suddenly cold as if he had plunged headlong into a frozen lake. His mind both stopped working and seemed to take off at a hundred miles an hour. 

Brother. 

Jason, was… He had never heard Dick say it. The gun went off. Jason jerked in surprise. And Dick fell. 

It was like watching a horror movie. The way his body crumpled and dropped, looked so wrong. It was unnatural. 

Jason saw green. For the first time in a year, he didn’t fight it. 

* * *

The world was spinning. Or he was spinning. It felt like he was being pulled apart and his insides were scrambled. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but his mind was screaming that something was wrong, horribly wrong. He hadn’t felt pain like this since… Harvey. 

Dick peeled his eyes open and immediately slammed them back shut again. His head was swimming painfully. But then the ground started moving and Dick forced them back open again. 

He was being dragged. Blood stained the ground as he passed over it. Dick looked down. It seemed like such an effort to even move his eyes. He had lost too much blood. But what had happened? 

He couldn’t even muster the energy to fight whoever was pulling him. Dick just closed his eyes again and leaned his head back against whoever it was that had their hands hooked under his armpits. 

The smell of gunpowder and blood was thick in the air, but it was mixed with something else, something Dick couldn’t put his finger on. The movement stopped and suddenly Dick felt cold again. A small whine escaped his lips before he could help it. Losing blood was a nasty business. It left the body aching for heat, and now the person who had been moving him wasn’t there to give him theirs. 

Something heavy dropped on him. Dick hissed in pain as it pressed his injuries, but it was warm. So mercifully warm. 

He should talk to them. He should figure out who they even were. Where he was. What had happened. But opening his eyes felt like a herculean task. 

A warm and rough hand moved over his face once. Dick tensed ever so slightly, but it only pushed back his hair and then was gone. 

The next time Dick awoke the pain was leveled down to a dull roar rather than that of the hammering hooves of a million bison. 

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. Dick blinked several times just to be sure. It was indeed his old room. There were his glow in the dark stars, bold as brass, on the plaster. 

Dick turned his head slightly and felt pain shoot through his chest. A groan passed his lips without his permission. 

“Dick?” 

Bruce stood in the doorway of his room, wearing a rather loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He stood holding a thick book and a cup of what smelled suspiciously like coffee.

“What?” Dick frowned as swollen lips slurred his question. “B?”

Bruce was across the room in nothing flat. He set his book and coffee on Dick’s bedside table and leaned over him fussily. 

“You were shot. Twice.” Bruce moved to help Dick into a sitting position and moved pillows behind him so that he was propped up comfortably. 

“I feel like I was hit by a truck.” Dick forced his lips to move as best he could. 

“You look about as bad as that.” Bruce sat back on an old wingback chair that had been in Dick’s room for as long as he had lived at Wayne Manor. He had dark circles under his eyes and his nose was red. 

Dick wanted to reach out and sooth the crease that had formed between his eyes. 

“Do you remember anything?” Bruce asked slowly.

Dick moved to shake his head, but as he did he noticed a brown leather coat draped over his old desk chair. His heart stopped.  _ Jason _ . 

His eyes filled with tears. If he was here… He-- Deathstroke. Jason was gone and it was Dick’s fault. 

“Dick?” Bruce was suddenly fussing again. “What hurts?” He was pulling blankets back and inspecting him hurriedly.

“I’m sorry.” Dick felt the hot tears spill over his face. “I-- I’m so sorry.”

Bruce stopped pulling back the dressing on Dick’s wounds and looked at him nonplussed. “Sorry?”

Dick closed his eyes, he couldn’t face it. He couldn’t see Bruce’s disappointment. 

“Dick, why would you be sorry?” two hands cupped either side of his face. “Dick, please what’s wrong?”

“Jason.” 

A gasp of air blew over his face. Dick risked opening his eyes. 

Bruce was looking at him in pure confusion. “What about Jason? You couldn’t have stopped him. You had two bullet wounds and you-- Dick, you had six broken bones, a ruptured spleen, a collapsed lung and a concussion. There was  _ nothing  _ you could have done.”

“It should have been me.” Dick spoke to Bruce’s shirt rather than look him in the eye. 

Bruce reeled back from him. “No. Dick. No-- I.” Bruce’s mouth opened and closed over and over like a fish. 

Dick gripped his comforter to stop his hands from shaking. 

“Dick. Look at me.” Bruce with more gentleness than seemed possible lifted his chin. “We can’t save everyone. And while I will never agree with what Jason did, I just glad you both are going to be okay.”

Dick blinked. What Jason did? That… that made no sense. Jason… 

“Jason’s alive?”

It was Bruce’s turn to panic. His jaw dropped and his eyes went wide as saucers. 

“Yes. I--” Bruce swore. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what you-- Yes. He’s fine. Leslie called and said he stopped by there a couple days ago. He had some bruising and a few hairline fractures.”

Dick couldn’t understand what had happened. He had been down so then-- “He saved me?”

Bruce wasn’t an expressive man, but a very small smile formed on his face. “Yeah, he did.”

**Author's Note:**

> So Slade is the implied death. Jason might have gotten a bit upset when he shoot his big brother, but who can blame him.


End file.
